


Another Day in the Legion

by Neyiea



Series: misfit(toy)s [4]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Gen, The Legion of Horribles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-05-01
Packaged: 2020-02-15 16:34:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18673417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neyiea/pseuds/Neyiea
Summary: In half a week Gotham is going to be turned into a madhouse.





	Another Day in the Legion

Laying eyes upon his brother yesterday for the first time in more than a decade had been, well, it had certainly been something. The terror in his eyes was remarkable. It was genuine in a way it hadn’t often been when they were children, and he was right to be afraid.

What Jerome had planned for him was ingenious. 

Not even Scarecrow was one hundred percent sure what the final result would be, only that it would twist his brother into something beyond recognition. It’s fitting that, despite how much Jeremiah hates and fears him, his transformation will make him more like Jerome than he has ever been before. 

Jeremiah had made a monster out of him when they were children. 

It’s Jerome’s turn to make a monster now.

He toys with a Jack in the Box delivered by one of his Maniax and thinks about what his recorded message should say. He doesn’t feel particularly sentimental about it, but it is an important moment; when Jeremiah hears his voice the very last time that he’s of sound mind. Jerome regards that moment as a passing of the torch. 

Gotham will be going crazy, and he’ll give it a whole new breed of criminally insane rouge to keep it that way.

His legacy will be death and madness. Jeremiah will be his final curse upon Gotham.

He wonders if Jeremiah will be too overcome with fear when he realizes he’s walked right into a trap for him to connect the dots.

One bad spray.

Jerome snorts, pleased with himself, and he sets the Jack in the Box aside for now in favor of looking outside. 

It’s raining tonight and the forecast says rain again tomorrow, typical Gotham weather. Jerome hopes that after this it clears up a little, seeing as there was no point in taking over an outdoor music festival if no one was willing to brave the outdoors.

If it does rain, and his plan ends up in the gutter, he’s going to knife the weatherman who’d promised an end to the downpour after two days.

He stares through expansive bay windows at the almost-black sky, bored out of his mind. Another half a week to go and then, if all goes according to plan, he’ll finally be able to unleash something magnificently crazy on this city. Gotham’s streets will run rampant with a madness that will make Arkham look rational in comparison. It will be just as twisted as the Tetch Virus, except this time around there won’t be a cure for anyone to discover. Gotham is going to be turned inside out and his brother—oh, his crafty, camouflaged brother—is going to get what’s coming to him. 

Jerome’s been anticipating this moment ever since he finally realized that their mother’s death was long overdue. 

But for now he has to wait.

And he absolutely detests waiting.

The sight of a familiar figure returning back into the fold after departing in the evening to scout out a few labs is a welcome sight, and Jerome leaves his spot at the window to greet him in the foyer. He chuckles at the sight he finds; beads of water that had frozen to the outside of his helmet have begun to thaw in the heat of the house, leaving him dripping all over the floor.

“Hey.” Fries steps out of the small puddle he’d created and wipes his boots on a mat, a courteous gesture that makes Jerome want to laugh harder, before stepping further into the house. “I found the ideal lab once Crane’s ready to mass produce. Good location, good resources, good benefits too, I heard,” Fries tacks on at the end thoughtfully.

Jerome cocks an eyebrow at him.

“Are you thinking about jumping ship to get dental insurance?”

“Nah. I’d rather perma-freeze a chunk of this city so that I could walk around out of my suit every once in a while.” He gestures to the one thing allowing him to go where he pleases in above-freezing conditions. “It gets a bit clunky, you know?”

“Can’t say that I do. I’m pretty fond of that look, personally.” Jerome tucks his hands into his pockets and grins as he looks Fries up and down. “Great aesthetic choices and your name acting as a pun to tie it together? I think it’s great.”

“You try carrying around a full body air conditioner sometime, and after you can let me know if you still think it’s great.”

“Point taken. I’m assuming you didn’t have any trouble?”

“Not really. Thought I might have been followed at some point while I was on foot, but since you told me not to ‘make a scene’.” Fries actually tucks his freeze ray under his shoulder for a moment so that he can do air quotes. “I only iced the road behind me. The rain made whoever was coming up on my heels wipe out pretty hard.”

Jerome chortles.

“Who was it, a cop? Or perhaps a concerned citizen?”

“I dunno,” Fries shrugs carelessly, “looked like some kid wearing all black.”

That could be any number of people. Gotham isn’t a small city. 

But is Jerome really going to dismiss the gut instinct that he has that says it’s his downright favourite teenager who had never been locked up in the world’s worst psychiatric hospital?

Absolutely not.

Jerome still has the lock-pick that he’d swiped off of Bruce the last time they’d spent some quality time together. He likes to think that Bruce’s idea to carry such a thing around in the first place was at least partially due to his own influence. He likes to think that their special night at the carnival had changed Bruce’s outlook on some things, just as it had changed Jerome’s. After all; what were adversaries for if not to feed off of each other?

“Thank you for a job well done, Mister Fries.” Jerome grins and practically skips past him. “Firefly’s been looking lonely without you around to hassle, why don’t you go keep her company?”

“I’d rather eat hot coals, thanks.”

Jerome laughs on his way up the stairs.

He had to give it to Oswald, the man sure kept some excellent company. 

Sometimes Jerome looks at Firefly and Freeze and wonders if he’d been changed somehow too during the time that his body had been kept at Indian Hill, or if the powers that be had decided that it was too dangerous to give him any more skills than he already had.

He’d never needed superhuman abilities to bring the city to its knees, after all.

He approaches the door to the room that Oswald had deemed unimportant enough for the stains and smells of Scarecrow’s work to be inconsequential. It was once a bedroom that belonged to a young woman, and Jerome is sure that the story of how she vanished would be absolutely riveting. 

Good old Pengy was the violent sort.

It was too bad, really, that Jerome had a feeling that he couldn’t fully count on him to play his part.

But he has better partners who are able to pick up the slack until the grand finale. 

“Hello there, _Mister Crane_.” He strolls inside without waiting for an invitation. “Is Tetch not keeping you company today?”

“Mister Tetch is running an errand for me,” Scarecrow answers as he puts something into a garlic mincer and squeezes until liquid comes out. “I found myself in need of a few new ingredients for this batch.” He casts a single glance in Jerome’s direction before turning his attention back to the fascinating vials and beakers on his makeshift workstation. “Which I would make more progress on if I was left in peace for more than ten minutes at a time.”

“Well I’m afraid you’re stuck with company for now, friend.”

“A horrible fate, to be sure.” He empties the pulp of whatever had been in the garlic mincer into a glass jar. “I had thought that I wouldn’t have to worry about group projects once I was no longer in school.”

Jerome barks out a too-sharp laugh. “Worried about the rest of the legion dragging your grades down?” There’s an edge to his tone, but Scarecrow doesn’t react to it. 

“We all have our part to play, and we all have our strengths. If I must be involved in a group, at least it’s a well-balanced one.”

“So focused. So grim.” Jerome perks up slightly. “You know, sometimes you remind me of Bruce Wayne.”

Scarecrow pauses, just for a moment.

“If you’ve come to insult me—”

“Trust me, buddy, I don’t mean it as an insult. I don’t even mean it in a two-sad-orphans way. You’re both kind of downers, sometimes, but you sure do make up for it in fun, unexpected ways.” Jerome hovers over Scarecrow’s shoulder, eyes roving over the traces of gore left on the table. He may not be an expert on human anatomy, but he’s pretty sure he spies some brain matter. How delightfully awful. 

“I fail to see how we could be anything alike past being, as you frightfully put it, ‘two sad orphans’.”

“Maybe someday you’ll be lucky enough to get him angry, like I have. Then you’ll see something interesting.”

Like will recognize like, once again.

Scarecrow gives him a hard look from the corner of his eye, then sighs.

“Was there a reason why you came here?”

“Oh, right! You know how I get when my mind wanders.” Jerome elbows him in a companionable manner. “Fries found the perfect lab for when you’ve got everything as it needs to be.”

Scarecrow hums, sounding pleased. “It won’t be much longer now.”

And isn’t that just music to Jerome’s ears?

Half a week until revolution.

And afterwards Gotham and her citizens, and his brother, will never be the same.


End file.
